


Return to Skyhold

by Eruphadriel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Modern Era, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 00:11:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4542795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eruphadriel/pseuds/Eruphadriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>600 years after the events of the Inquisition, Skyhold is a tourist site open to history buffs and fans of its past inhabitants. The historical events that occurred there seem far in the past to most. But to a couple of visitors, Skyhold is more of a home than anyone realizes -- including themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Return to Skyhold

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Quick Draw Art Challenge #14](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/135732) by cute-ellyna. 



> Inspired by cute-ellyna‘s piece for her Quick Drawing Art Challenge. Thanks for letting me write this! I used the experience I gathered while touring Ireland (and having more than a few cases of deja vu myself), so hopefully the tourist part is accurate!

“The fortress of Skyhold – known to the elves as  _Tarasyl’an Te’las_ , ‘the place where the sky is kept’ or rather, ‘the place where the sky is held back’ – has served many purposes over hundreds of years. From a place for elven rituals to a Fereldan stronghold, Skyhold has exchanged hands many times in the past. We have few solid facts as to  _who_  owned the keep,  _when_  they did so, and for what  _purpose_. But as you’ll see this afternoon, we have many clues.”

The woman’s bright red smile fell into a stern line. The tour guide folded her hands in front of her. “Skyhold is a much larger site than Haven. Being such, it is very easy to get lost here. Be sure to stay  _with_  the group. There will be plenty of photo ops during the tour, so there’s no need to fall behind. We’ll also be breaking for lunch in the main keep, and during such time you’ll be permitted to explore places such as the Inquisitor’s chambers, the war room, the library, the rookery, and many other designated spots. So don’t sneak off! Remember, this is the last tour of the day. If you get lost, you’ll have to stay here all night until tomorrow morning’s tour!”

The group gave a collective chuckle. With a somewhat wicked smirk, the tour guide turned on her heel and led the group over the hold’s bridge. Triss clutched Cullen’s hand. She squeezed her eyes shut even as he leaned over the edge of the bridge to gaze down at the frosty river below.

“Maker’s balls, Cullen,” she squeaked, stretching as far away from him as she could without releasing his hand. “Get away from there!”

“Says the one who snuck into the dungeons at the Haven Memorial,” he countered with a scoff.

“That was different. I risked being kicked out of the tour, not... falling to my death!” Triss yanked him away and hurried beneath the iron teeth of the raised portcullis. “I’d rather not stand on the edge of a _thousand-year-old fortress_.”

Cullen gave her a knowing look as the garrison’s hulking shadow engulfed the entire tour group. “If it’s held for that long, I shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Today  _would_  be the day the stones decided to give out.”

As they entered the courtyard, and the sun beamed down between the glittering mountain peaks, Triss let go of his hand. She and the other tourists spread apart, necks craning to see the various flags atop the battlements. The standards of the Dalish, Ferelden, and the Inquisition snapped smartly in the mountain winds. Cullen raised his camera and snapped picture after picture as the tour guide spoke, her voice booming across the gigantic space.

“While Skyhold has been held by many interesting inhabitants, its most famous use was acting as the headquarters of the Inquisition – and the home of Inquisitor Trevelyan.” She opened her arms to indicate the courtyard. “Here is where the Inquisitor would have bid her followers farewell as she took off on her journeys across Thedas, and where she would greet them when she returned. Plenty of young recruits entered through the gate we just filed through. They all marched out as brave soldiers. Few returned the same way.”

She turned towards the keep, the roof of which stood above all other buildings. “This way, please.”

Cullen was quick to follow their guide, eager to snap pictures of the famous keep. But Triss lagged behind. She tottered across the grasses, turning this way and that to examine the rugged crenels and merlons through which the wind whistled. She swore she could smell leather and horses. This time, it was Cullen who grabbed his travelling companion’s hand and dragged her forward.

“She said we’ll have time to explore later,” he reminded her. “I don’t want to miss the commander’s quarters – hurry up!”

Since travelling Antiva and Rivain with Cullen, she was accustomed to him following their guide’s orders to a T. How she had gone from meeting him in a Denerim coffee shop to traversing Thedas with him, she would never know. Triss let him pull her along, but her gaze roamed. She thought she heard a horn sounding.  _The wind_ , she decided. It wasn’t the truth, but it was as close to it as she would allow herself to get.

As they trickled through archways and gates, more of Skyhold emerged. The main keep with its balcony and great staircase, the training yard, the tavern at which Triss was  _determined_  to have a drink. And far below there was another courtyard lined with vending tables, at the end of which stood the barn that had once housed Warden Blackwall. Cullen took pictures of the keep as the tour guide gestured to the stairs.

“Do you see that plateau? Two of the greatest moments in Inquisition history took place right at that very spot. There, Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast and Sister Leliana – who would go on to be Divine Victoria – named Trevelyan the Inquisitor. And there, Inquisitor Trevelyan returned to her advisers after defeating Corypheus, her entire inner circle gathering where you stand right now.”

A wave of shocked and awed whispers rippled through the group. As the tour guide climbed the stairs, a few people paused to take photos of themselves standing where the Inquisitor’s inner circle (and the Inquisitor herself) had hundreds of years before. All smiles and whispered excitement, they proceeded up the stone steps and into the keep. But hardly halfway up the stairs, Triss doubled over and groaned. Cullen placed his hand on her back.

“Are you alright?”

She rolled her shoulders. “My muscles hurt like I just ran a marathon or something.”

Triss glanced up at him. Cullen’s face was ashen, his stubble stark against his blanched cheeks. She straightened as best she could.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he replied. Triss glared at him, and he added with a dismissive shrug, “I just feel a bit queasy.”

“Like...  _Sick_  sick?”

Cullen shook his head. “More just... Anxious.”

Triss grasped his hand. “Can I do anything?”

“No. Let’s just catch up. I’m sure I’ll be fine once we break for lunch.” He didn’t release her hand. In fact, Cullen clutched it so intensely that pain shot through her wrist before Triss lost all feeling there.

Stone floors gave way to rich rugs as the group filed into the cavernous keep. Tapestries hung on the walls, the perimeter of the hall blocked off by red velvet ropes. The tables were set up like they would be at a great feast. And at the end of the long hall, there stood the Inquisitor’s throne. Gilded bits glistened in the sunlight that poured through the stained glass windows. It, too, was off-limits, a barrier keeping the steps that led to the dais.

The flash of a dozen cameras glinted off of the silverware and iron. Triss walked ahead of the group as they spread out and the tour guide droned on about the array of nobles housed therein during the Inquisition years. Cullen caught up with her.

“It’s so...” He shook his head. “Big. And...  _Regal_.”

“It wasn’t always like this,” said Triss distantly. She vaguely gestured to the floor in front of the sectioned-off doorway. “That used to be blocked with stones and barrels. There were beams strewn everywhere. The tapestries were torn and faded. The glass was broken. It was weeks before anyone could sleep anywhere but in tents. And it was cold. Even compared to the journey through the Frostbacks, it was cold.”

“I know,” murmured Cullen. Then, a little louder, he added, “I never knew you were so knowledgeable regarding ancient holds. Where did you read that?”

As if snapping out of a dream, Triss blinked rapidly and glanced up at him. She wrung her hands together. “Oh, I... I don’t remember. Reading it, that is. At all.” 

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You just  _know_  this?”

She shrugged. “It’s no big deal. You just said, ‘I know’, too.”

“This way, please,” called the guide as she opened a door and led the group inside.

Glad for the distraction, Triss scampered after the rest of the group. Through one door, they walked through the gardens. The fortress’s keepers had restored the Skyhold gardens, and the grounds flourished with spring colours. They stopped outside a small Chantry before circling back.

From there, they were led through Solas’s chambers, the mural of the Inquisitor’s journey guarded by the same velvet rope as the tables and throne outside. The guide assured them, as she ushered them along, that they would have time to study the details on their lunch hour. Triss felt no need to further examine the mural. She knew the Inquisitor’s journey, though she didn’t know how she knew. Up the rotunda they went to the library, still fully stocked, and then to the rookery where fake birds were housed. By the time they returned to the lower level, Triss had caught the loop in the tape of raven calls that played in the background.

The tour guide walked backwards towards the throne. “Next, we’ll visit the Inquisitor’s chambers. From there, we’ll go to the Undercroft, and to the war room.”

“What about the commander’s quarters?” asked Cullen.

“And the stables? The kitchens?” another tourist inquired.

The hinges of the door to the left of the throne groaned as the tour guide opened it. “After we’re done in the main building, we’ll head straight for those spots,” she promised.

They entered a stairwell in a strange state of disrepair when compared to the rest of the keep. Splintered beams were propped up in dusty, cobwebbed corners. The windows were barricaded, the stairs creaked loudly underfoot. The tour guide yet strode backwards, her heels clicking with each expert step.

“Now,” she said, “here’s a mystery for you.” She pointed to a bland, beige tapestry that hung by the stairs. “Upon arriving in Skyhold, author Varric Tethras jotted down notes about the fortress. Whether they were ideas for further tales or simply records of the Inquisition’s adventures remains up for debate. Regardless, his notes tell us that this tapestry hung all around Skyhold when the Inquisition arrived, which means it must have belonged to its previous inhabitants. But nobody can identify the sigil.”

Cameras snapped. Someone raised their hand.

“Why is  _this_  spot in such bad shape?” they asked.

The guide laughed, the sound rising up to the barrel-vaulted ceiling. “By all accounts, the stairwell leading to the Inquisitor’s chambers was never repaired beyond its original state. While we made sure it was safe to traverse, we decided to keep it the way it’s meant to be: a complete mess.”

“But why didn’t they repair it?” the person asked. “I mean, hundreds of years ago. It was for the  _Herald of Andraste_ , after all.”

“That’s just another mystery.” She led the group up the steps, the wooden boards groaning underfoot.

Triss and Cullen were one of the last stragglers who entered the Inquisitor’s old chambers. Most of the group flooded onto the balconies and snapped pictures of the glittering Frostbacks. Triss made a beeline for the desk, which sat in the corner alongside packed bookcases. The surface of the desk was encased in glass. A small plaque indicated that the documents laid on the tabletop were, in fact, ancient documents written and signed by the Inquisitor and her advisers. Cullen leaned over Triss’s shoulder and squinted at the papers.

“Did you write this?” he chuckled.

Triss blinked in dumbfounded shock. “What?”

“Her handwriting is just like yours,” he explained. “Terrible.”

“Oh,” she sighed before they were off again.

The group was dragged back to the main corridor, through the drafty Undercroft, back again, though Lady-Ambassador Montilyet’s office (her famous ruffled attire in a glass case nearby), and to the war room. As the group spread out, they found the war table was, too, encased in clear glass. A map of Thedas laid beneath it, iron place markers indicating places like the Hissing Wastes,, Val Royeaux, and Emprise du Lion.

“This is where the Inquisitor would plan her journeys across Thedas,” explained the tour guide from the corner of the room. “Here, alliances were made a broken, attacks were plotted, and the Inquisitor was advised by her spymaster, commander, and ambassador. On occasion, Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast and Morrigan, the Witch of the Wilds, joined these meetings.” Her voice fell to a sad note. “The original map was reduced to a mere few rotten scraps, the salvaged parts of which can be seen the case over there to the left. But the place markers are authentic. Replicas are sold in the gift shop.”

One of the tourists’s eyes shot up from the table. “Do they sell replica weaponry, too?”

She laughed. “Of course! The Inquisitor’s sword, the commander’s sword and shield, and Bianca just to name a few. We also have some excellent jewellery and clothing, replica pieces worn by the Inquisition’s most infamous members. Our top sellers are Varric Tethras’s necklace and Sera’s motley...”

Her voice faded as Triss approached the table. Her back was to the door, her gazed fixed on the pieces. Before she realized what she was doing, her hand was outstretched, hovering over the glass. Her eyes flickered up to find Cullen on the other side of the table, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword, moving the Storm Coast’s piece to –

Triss blinked, and the image was gone. Cullen yet stood across from her, gaze roaming over the map.

“I’ve never noticed before,” he murmured, “but Lake Calenhad looks like a bunny.”

When their eyes met, Cullen furrowed his brow questioningly. She couldn’t stop staring at him, lips parted in shock.

“This way, please,” called the guide.

Triss tried to move her feet but couldn’t. Cullen ended up grabbing her hand and pulling her down the corridor. She was in a daze as they walked through the lower chambers and the kitchens. When they at last stepped into daylight, they were at the top of a spire overlooking the courtyard and stables. The cold, fresh air cleared Triss’s mind a little. Below, there was another tour group just finishing up.

“Now, we’ll head towards the commander’s quarters, and –“

”Maura, they’ve closed that part off,” called the second guide. “Something about the loft being unstable and the floorboards broken below.”

Cullen made a noise of disappointment. He let go of Triss’s hand.

“Have you spoken to Jeff?” their guide asked.

The second one shrugged, his mouth curling into a frown. “Bella did. He’s called the repairman, but he’s doing some work in Antiva. Jeff’s trying to find someone else.”

Their guide turned back to face them as the second group made for the keep. “I’m so sorry to anyone who wished to see the commander’s quarters, but it seems we’re unable to visit there this afternoon. If you’ll follow me, we still have the stables and Blackwall’s barn to see.”

Cullen and Triss fell behind. He slunk beside her, his mouth fallen into a frown. Triss took his hand and pulled him close, her eyes darting around them.

“I can get you in,” she whispered as they entered the stables. Mechanical horses stood in the stalls, whinnying softly.

“Triss, don’t,” he hissed back.

“You wanted to see the commander’s quarters, didn’t you?”

Cullen gave an exasperated sigh. “Yes.”

“Then do it my way, and you  _will_.”

“ _Your_  way nearly got us kicked out of the Haven Memorial tour,” he countered, but she was already gone.

Triss shoved her way towards the most gullible-looking tourist of the group. The tall, lanky man watched the horses with caution. When Triss came to his side, he jumped at her sudden presence.

“You know,” she said, “they feel like real horses.”

“Excuse me?”

Triss nudged him towards the nearest chestnut palfrey. “They’re warm, and they move as if they’re breathing. New technology. I know because my sister designed it. Check it out!”

To her surprise, her lie registered with the man. He moved towards the stuffed animal, reaching out one trembling hand. And right then, as Triss had observed when they stood on the spire, the horse bucked its head.

She hurried back to Cullen as the man yelped and jumped away. Triss’s foot shot out, and as the man stumbled back he tripped over her boot. He fell into the trough, sending a spray of water and an empty bucket flying. The group stood at attention, then swarmed, eager to help him to his feet.

“Now! Come on!” Triss whispered sharply, yanking Cullen from the barn and dashing to the stone steps that led to the battlements.

Their feet pounded against the damp grasses as the two bolted across the yard and up the stairs. Her heart pounded in her ears. It wasn’t until she made it to the top and grabbed the doorhandle that a wild grin broke out over her face and made her cheeks ache. She had to jiggle the handle, but the door opened with ease. Triss shoved Cullen inside and quietly shut the door behind them.

They were safe.

Triss leaned against the door. Her chest heaved with every gasping breath. Cullen panted, too, and shook his head at her. A curl fell lose and hung over his eye.

“There’s always something more with you, isn’t there?” he said between gasping breaths.

“You’re not wishing you were somewhere else, are you? Back with Maura and the group?” she teased. “Besides, check out where you are,  _Commander_.”

That’s when he looked around him. The chambers were cold and in a state of slight disrepair, but still held their stoic din. The window behind the commander’s desk – cluttered with papers and books – was light with the afternoon’s sun. With each gust of wind, the office groaned softly. The desk wasn’t covered by glass.  _Probably being set up_ , Triss decided. They took pride in the accuracy of their exhibits here.

Cullen immediately began taking photos. Without the obstacle of other tourists, Triss counted double as many pictures as he had snapped in other parts of Skyhold. He even had her take a photo of him in the commander’s chair. All that kept him from venturing up to the loft was the tour guide’s words about it being structurally unsound. Yet he kept his gaze on the ladder, debating, weighing the options. Triss climbed the first few rungs before Cullen called her down.

When they were nearly finished, he sighed sadly. “We’re going to get caught.”

“So?” prompted Triss. “We’ve seen Skyhold. It’s not as if they’ll be depriving us of some secret chamber. Next is all of Tevinter, right?”

“I didn’t mean –“ He drew in a deep breath. Cullen wrung his hands together nervously. “I had hoped... I mean, I had  _expected_... Well...”

Triss narrowed her eyes. “Is there something wrong?”

“N-No!” insisted Cullen.

“Then why are you so anxious?” she pressed.

He shut his eyes to gather his thoughts. “I had hoped to do this on the battlements overlooking the mountains. But seeing as _here_  is to be our last stop before they force us onto another shuttle bus...”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted to ask you if... Well, since we’ve been travelling Thedas together, I’ve come to know you as – I mean, I’ve been... I wanted to know if we could be  _more_  than... Ah, more than friends, and... This was a lot easier in the mirror last night.”

Triss chuckled softly. She walked past him and leaned on the edge of the desk.  
“Cullen,” she said, a smile in her voice. “Do you need to ask?”

His lips curled into a shy smile and pink blossomed over his cheeks. “I suppose not. I –“

Triss’s hand knocked against a bottle. It crashed to the ground, deep green glass exploding away from the collision. She gasped. Not because of the sound breaking the quiet, or the fact that she had very likely just broken an antique bottle of Orlesian red. She looked up at Cullen, who yet stared at the shards of glass.

“Deja vu?” she asked suddenly, the words coming out before she understood them.

As an answer, Cullen pressed his lips to hers. His kiss was hard and hot, one arm snaking around her waist while his free hand threaded through her pink-streaked hair. Triss threw her arms around his neck, revelling in the dizzy feeling that wouldn’t go away.

When he broke the kiss, Triss’s cheeks were flushed bright red. She glanced down at the desk and ran her fingers up his neck.

“You know,” she purred, “I heard a rumour that the Inquisitor and her commander spent their first night together right here on this desk.”

Cullen smirked. “Don’t tempt me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback is appreciated and encouraged!


End file.
